Nowhere Man

Holy hell, if this isn’t the loneliest place in the world. In the big cities there is a sense of alienation, but you get the feeling that no matter how strange you are, there are at least other strange people out there, so you have something in common with someone. And if you were to die there, somebody would sort of understand what you were about. You were different, but not bad. Perhaps even special.

Here, the same cardboard houses on every street. The same people everywhere. Of course, there are always the poor, middle, and rich classes. But beyond their money I see no other differences. They all go to work, go home, drink on the weekends, and despise anything that threatens their routine. They are always friendly and give each other enthusiastic greetings but go silent when you’re around. They look at you weird, like they can sense you are not one of them. It’s as if they somehow know that you think differently than them. You see a different world from what they see. And if you were to die here, good riddance.

So you do what you always do. You drive. Somewhere else. Somewhere new. Away from here for a little while, is all I ask for. Out past the morning mist of the orchards. Out past the farms and the spray of sprinklers glowing in the afternoon sun. Out past the dilapidated industry towns. Out until all you see is dust and sky.

An abandoned building. A place to stop and think. Refuge. And you walk around it’s creaky floors. And you imagine who used to live here. And you stare out the window thinking. Thinking for hours. You can’t stop thinking. It’s much less lonely out here. This house understands me better than those people. The sound of the wind, more comforting than their chatter. Can’t stay too long. It’s only a matter of time before the sheriff stops and asks what you’re doing. And when you tell him you’re thinking he won’t believe you because he’s never done it himself. So back to blacktop, smog machines, and robots. Back to being a visitor on a strange planet. Back to loneliness.

On the way back you wonder what this day meant, and how all the days bleed together into a surreal mess. But at least you did something today. You thought. You thought for hours. But what did you think about? Don’t you know? You were just doing it. How could you have forgotten already? Then you realize you were thinking in circles. You didn’t make any progress. Nothing changed. You thought the same thing you always do.

What the hell am I doing?